I remember with nostalgia the only Christmas of its kind. It is one of bitter sweet experience that happened in 2007 when I was working with Care Childrens Home and the director had promised to take us to Hawaii for the Christmas holiday. Care Childrens Home is a non governmental organization in Chicago that serves the poor children in that area. As an employee, it is worthy noting that my roles as teacher got me a bigger opportunity to offer my service to the organization. We all worked hard to ensure that everything was right in terms of fulfilling the wishes and expectations of the poor children as well as meeting the objectives of the organization. All of us were anxious to go to Hawaii for the end of year get together party. The organization is located in the rural and somehow, that was my last year with the organization. Sam, one of the children in the Home, had been rushed to the hospital for an emergency surgery involving his perforated ulcers and paralysis. Everything became even worse when the doctor overtly expressed his fears when he said, let us hope for the best.., things are tough.
Christmas was approaching and my thoughts as a young man kept hovering on the gifts I could possibly give the children as the only way to bid them bye (Whitaker, 2005). They had in so many ways touched my heart. Apparently, I thought about very special, homemade gifts, composite of practical necessities. I thought about Sam and pitied him for what he was going through. He had been in the Home for six years and at the age of twelve, it was too early for him to suffer a paralysis. His conditions deteriorated and everybody became concerned and unhappy. The depression was suffocating.
The Director had to be factual. She announced to us that This year, there would be no Christmas holiday and the planned trip to Hawaii had been cancelled. Actually, the cancellation of the trip was based o the argument that the get together party was meant fro the whole Care Childrens Home. The remorsefulness in her heart was noticeable and the whole atmosphere became somber. Sam had been unable to eat, play or sleep and the doctors were forced to put him on strong painkillers to at least ease his pain.
At first I was humiliated at the fact that there was no holiday for me but later on realized that the Care Childrens Home was more like a family and whatever affected Sam, affected everybody including other children (Whitaker, 2005). Worse still, knowing that Sam was going to die, left me more desperate, prompting me to forget about Christmas and holidays and then concentrate on doing my best to the children in the home. That was the hardest of times of the organization. It made the whole Christmas strange and painful.
Both staff and the children assembled on the eve of Christmas and we had some kind of Christmas tree dedicated to Sam. As the celebration began and continued, the director maintained her silence. She looked remorseful and her silence scared but we all knew she missed Sam. She had adopted him as her own bloody son. She therefore felt for him. What was meant to be a celebration of happiness was then overtaken by lack of warmth and the coldness in our hearts. I retreated to my room and cried out to God that He may just spare Sam. Later on I remembered the child who had died early in the year in the same home. This time round, the whole organization was brought together by Sam. I forgot about my family and wanted to in the Childrens Home joining my hands in praying, wishing well and doing everything for Sam. As a teacher, I spent every minute watching about the children
Everyone gave gifts cards to Sam although in absentia. The director, whom the children called mama something that extended to we members f the staff, gave a unique gift. It was just the gift card but marked Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday. I wondered why the director had to mark the card that way and I asked her why do it that way. After a long silence, she called everyones attention and told us that she from seeing Sam in the hospital and she is afraid, we may lose him. That was the reason she thought of celebrating Sams birthday on a Christmas day.
It later emerged from the records that Sam was born on January 3rd. Irrespective of all these I felt that we were shortchanging Sam of one holiday even if his future was unpredictable. However, the gifts were sent out of love and we all had to be thankful. On the eve of Christmas day, I remembered the procedures that were followed in the decoration of Christmas tree. As children, we were obviously isolated from the process. I could remember the impatient and eager anticipation of the moments when my parents could ring the small brass bell that hung on the tree to allow us to get to the room. This was not the case. We spent our eve commemorating the good time we have had At Care Childrens Home.
On Christmas day, the director led us in taking the children to Sunday school and it was there that I learnt that there was more to Christmas than presents and feasting. I learnt about Santa Claus story in a more kids version and accepted that the Gods greatest gift for me on Christmas was my self. It was amazing to see every child dedicating their prayers to Sam. This made us stronger and gave us some peace of mind during this difficult time. But the magic of my childhood image of Christmas could not be lost. Somehow, I was reminded of how Christmas was when I was a child. The message of the day remained to hope for a better tomorrow for Sam irrespective of the situation.
It was my different Christmas altogether. In the evening of Christmas day, things seemed to move from worse to worst. There were no lights and we spent the evening in the dark. The news came that Sam had succumbed to the pain. He had died on the Christmas day. I kept myself in the house because nothing had been the same all day and throughout the season. The darkness briefly suspended me and my thoughts into decades of silent and breathless future that peered down into the unknown. I thought about my life and the possibility that I may also die. I thought about Sam and I missed him more painfully.
I retreated to corridors leading to the common room and cried out my heart for Sam. Life was futile. I cried like a little child. It was shortly that lights came back .The director, who had hitherto been strong and seemed happier, called us together and embraced each on of us on her chest something that was unusual of her. She then reminded us that we are a family irrespective of our diversity and Sam had brought us closer to each other. She regretted that the conditions of Sam had made our Christmas bitter but promised that once the funeral is over, we will as a family go to Hawaii
Every Christmas that followed even up-to-date always rekindle the thoughts of this black Christmas. With a flurry of activities, the joys and celebration that have accompanied every Christmas brings back the sad memories of that dark Christmas that stole my happiness. But at least, I spent it working for the poor.
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